The Morrigan
by April29Roses
Summary: A gigantic trebuchet is set to attack Camelot, powered by a vengeful sorcerer from Uther's past. Merlin finds a way to save his home from destruction, but Arthur discovers his magic, just as another attack begins. This is a classic reveal fic, with plenty of angst and whump. Dedicated in gratitude to oma 13.
1. Prologue: Part One Babd

PART I BABD

Author's Note: This story is dedicated to Oma13! It would never have seen the light of day without her very kind words of encouragement. I hope it will serve as a thank you for those feelings of gratitude for her belief in me.

PROLOGUE

The forest was screaming. The trees had been hacked down in a single second of ferocious power. The underlying ground ripped aside, even the roots of the trees were torn from the earth. The creatures of the air and earth were fleeing, and those who could not run or fly or crawl away, were dying. These things tore at the heart of Babd as she stood in the heart of the desolation.

The blood of humans meant little in comparison to the devastation visited upon the land. She screamed her warning, her heart reverberating with the agony around her. Her harsh cry echoed across the dying tracts of forest, bring warning of despair and retribution. It invaded dreams and sang in the deepest recesses of every creature that partook of magic. Many mourned at the sound of her cry, and others rejoiced in the battle that they hoped would bring them freedom. Some wept for the destruction at hand and others celebrated the fight to come. War.

Battle was coming to Camelot. It was a battle with a cost that would bankrupt the heart of the King of Camelot and change his land forever. It was a war that would expose secrets and demand unholy sacrifices. The dead trees groaned in the sunlight as they withered and death was everywhere.

Babd's harsh cry echoed again and again, over the desecrated land. Terror and death were coming. Battle.


	2. Chapter 1 : Warning

CHAPTER ONE

WARNING

Merlin frowned as he looked out into the courtyard from the warm security of the barn. He had been mucking out the stalls where Arthur's destrier and his own less spectacular, but equally faithful mare resided.

Angry voices had caught his attention. Someone was rudely demanding to see Gaius. He looked more closely, leaning on the handle of his shovel. He put aside the tool, his magic tingling.

Most requests for Gaius' services were begun with pleas for help. This was especially true when the horse that brought them to Camelot looked to be spent, as this man's was. Merlin moved towards the man who was tying the reins of his exhausted horse to a post. He pegged the man for a brute immediately.

"I need to see Gaius," roared the stranger, once more. He did not seem desperate or beside himself with fear; he was almost belligerent.

"Let me help, my Lord," said Merlin. He did not look up at the man who suddenly went silent. He untied the horse, took its reins and led it to a trough of water. While the horse drank noisily, Merlin spoke again. "I know where Gaius is. I will give him a message." His tone was not his typical teasing tone, but respectful and quiet. The stranger seemed to respond to his tactic.

He began to speak stiffly. "There has been an injury. One of my men was caught under a tree that fell and will need to have a few bones set. He looked in a bad way. Our captain asked that Gaius might come…"

As he finished speaking, his eyes caught Merlin's for a moment. Some terrible secret was at hand. It was something that shook the warlock; his very hair tingled with the touch of magic. He had learned to trust these warnings. He felt a visceral fear.

"I will give the message to Gaius and return shortly," said Merlin, despite his pounding heart. "May I ask your name, sir?"

"Jules. My name is Jules. Our camp is a two hour ride away."

The man was heavy set, with a medium build and dark hair. His eyes were green. He smiled at the servant, as if he was hopeful of help, but could not hide the deadly focus in his eyes. Something dark dwelt there.

"Please, have something to eat and drink, while you wait," Merlin said, nodding to one of the stable boys who offered to show the stranger the way to the kitchen. Another stable boy stepped forward to care for his exhausted mount. The horse headed gratefully to the stables. The man turned with a surly grunt that might have been a thank you.

Merlin watched as they left, his chore forgotten. He had already decided that Gaius did not need to know the details of what had just transpired. Arthur would not need him until morning. Something inside him impelled him to investigate what was going on. But he did not want to raise an alarm without evidence. He could already imagine Arthur's angry, incredulous face when not given proof he deemed adequate. Funny feelings didn't count.

He turned and left at once, springing up the stairs, two at a time, deciding as he ran, on the account he was going to give Gaius.

In the end it had been easier than he thought to convince his mentor, that he should go on a mission to attend to the request for help. He had only told Gaius about the injured man. He did not speak of the strange behavior of the messenger, or the misgivings that had flooded him as they spoke.

The afternoon was heading towards twilight and Gaius was clearly tired. Merlin had been light hearted as he spoke. He picked up the satchel that Gaius had recently given him as a gift. Inside were supplies to treat many kinds of wounds, as well as the most basic of medicines. This was to be it's first outing.

"Good luck, my boy," the old physician had said at last, as he watched Merlin loop the satchel's handles around his shoulder and let the weight of the pouch settle on his hip. He placed both hands on Merlin's shoulders. But Gaius said nothing, merely giving his ward an impish smile and flare of his eyebrow instead. Merlin laughed.

"You've been ready to do this for a long time," said the old physician, as he lifted the teapot from its hook near the fire and began to pour it into his waiting cup. He smiled again.

Merlin felt an enormous surge of affection and longing as he turned away to leave. The fire was burning merrily, and Gaius was already peering at a book, settled into his favorite chair. His long fingers traced the page easily finding his place in the text, as he settled his spectacles on his nose. It was an image that settled into his heart and made itself indelible. The foreboding that had arisen as he stood in the courtyard came back to him as he stood there. He paused.

"Get on with you," laughed Gaius in his familiar tone.

"See you in the morning, replied Merlin, as he shut the door behind him.


	3. Chapter 2: Crossroads

CHAPTER TWO

CROSSROADS

The ride had been mostly silent, as the twilight fell and the night began. Jules appeared angry when he realized that Gaius himself was not coming, but was instead sending his apprentice. Merlin had faced the issue before and did his best to be reassuring, but his attempts to find out more about the injured man, met with monosyllabic replies and surly urgings to hurry. His strange feelings magnified.

An hour and half into their ride, Merlin felt a cry echo through the woods. Not a human cry; it was a scream that forced itself from the land itself. Merlin reeled in the saddle from the force of what he heard, and he suddenly grasped onto the pommel of the saddle, overcome with weakness. Something terrible was coming; terror and battle in nightmare detail surged into his mind. Devastation was burning its way through the cry.

.Jules circled back, when he noticed that Merlin's horse had gone stock-still.

"What's wrong," he demanded.

"A moment", replied Merlin, as he continued to fight the debilitating effects of the scream that still echoed among the leaves and shivered in the branches. He raised his hand in an unconscious imitation of Arthur asking for silence.

Jules neared Merlin, his demeanor concerned but the warlock felt an intense wave of anger emanate from the man. His head was spinning as he slid from the saddle and clung to the side of his horse, as he wasn't sure he could stand on his own.

Babd's cry came once more. It shattered Merlin's tenuous hold on reality and he fell. He was lost in the desolation of the forest, in the agony of the sudden death of trees. It was the fear of trapped animals. It was the screaming of the earth itself. He lost himself.

Merlin's horse stood protectively, over him as Jules wheeled his own mount in frustration and cursed at the unconscious man. He dismounted, drawing his sword as he came. He was grumbling loudly to himself as he came towards the figure of Merlin.

"I was told to bring the physician, not some skinny lout who thinks he knows something of medicine. Ruadan will have my head." His words echoed strangely in the trees, but Jules did not note it.

"Get up, you miserable git," yelled Jules as he shoved at Merlin's horse, striking it's rump with the flat of his blade. The horse sprang away in sudden fright and the heavy-set man took a kick at the prone figure before him. The horse screamed and circled his master and the larger man, and then set off at dead run, towards Camelot. Jules only laughed.

He kicked at the young man once more. The servant had hardly moved through out the confusion; it seemed he was already deeply unconscious. For a moment, Jules considered his options.

He knew Ruadan would be displeased when he saw that Gaius had sent his apprentice. He needed precise information about Camelot and the old physician had lived and worked in the castle and had been intimate in the plans for its defense for many years. He was an easy source of information. This servant likely knew nothing, for all the prattling he did along the road.

He decided he would tell Ruadan that the man had attacked him and that he had been forced to kill him. He reached down and tore the satchel over the young man's head and threw it into some bushes by the side of the road. He would tell the sorcerer that Gaius had sent a servant, not an apprentice. As he watched the leather bag tumble away, he overviewed his story once more. Jules turned back, raising the sword over his head, only to find the young man looking at him clearly. His eyes were sparkling with anger.

"You really don't want to do that," he said steadily, threat was implicit. He rubbed his head gingerly. His eyes were dark with pain.

Merlin was still almost deaf from the thunderous echo of the cry that had felled him into senselessness. He was angry and reckless from the destruction of the trees and the cry still sang bitterly in his heart.

Jules thrust at him with the sword, still convinced he had nothing to fear from the slender youth they had sent in the place of the old man. Merlin threw him aside. The warlock heard his attacker's neck crack as he was thrown on to a boulder by the side of the road. Merlin panted as he fought to stay conscious. He lost himself again, in the thunder of echoing devastation.

TWO HOURS LATER

The moon was high in the sky. There was the sound of hooves. The ground vibrated beneath his groggy head. Merlin stirred, but before he could begin to make out the muzzy, moonlit features of the landscape, four riders were upon him. One of the riders dismounted and went over to peer at the dead body by the side of the road. Jules' blank eyes gazed no longer. His mouth hung open.

"Who are you, boy," shouted one of the men, still mounted on a nervously prancing horse. Merlin cringed from the moving hooves as if he was afraid, hoping to deflect any suspicion of his true identity. It wasn't much of plan, but 'play dumb' might work as well as anything else.

The warlock was still in pain, his head was pounding and the nightmare of the warning still crashed in the shoals of his magical awareness. He tried to take some deep breaths, but his mind was slow, and confusion fogged his mind as he struggled to understand what had happened.

His first thought was of his king. Where was Arthur? Slowly, as his brain struggled to recall, he realized that he was safe, back in Camelot. Arthur was safe. He intended to keep it that way.

"Play dumb," echoed his magic. Having no better plan, he groveled before the riders who towered over him. "Play dumb."

"Please sir! We were attacked." His voice stuttered, his fear was genuine, even if the riders did not understand what was going through his mind. The man who had already dismounted prodded at the dead body of Jules.

"Bandits. They took the horses," Merlin continued.

"Looks like they broke his neck." The man spat in frustrated disdain.

Merlin remained silent, his face suddenly horror stricken, in the midst of his lies. He barely remembered killing the man.

"Who are you, boy?"

"George," he answered, wrenching his gaze from the body, and grasping quickly for a familiar name. "I'm George. I work in the kitchen and I help Gaius in the afternoon and help him deliver the medicines."

"The physician's errand boy," spat the leader. "Ruadan wanted to interrogate Gaius. I told you, Jules was too dense for this mission, and it looks like he died, attacked by bandits, and all we have is a scullery boy, for all the trouble."

"Please sir, I mean no harm," whimpered the warlock, his heart pounding as he realized he had interrupted a plot to kidnap and torture Gaius. There was a plot to attack Camelot. Who was Ruadan?

"I knew something had gone wrong when he missed our rendezvous! Now, I get to decide what to do with this idiot."

He gestured at Merlin, who cowered. "Play dumb," the warlock told himself.

"Kill him," growled one of the other riders.

"Ruadan still might want to question him…" suggested another, his voice trailing off.

Merlin debated only for a moment, whether he should escape using his magic or follow this lead about a sorcerer named Ruadan. The decision was easy. He bowed his head as if he was afraid. He had a good idea of what was coming.

The leader dismounted from his horse and pulled a dagger from his boot. With a casual ease the horseman stabbed it hard into Merlin's thigh. The secret defender of Camelot collapsed, blood gushing down his leg as he fell to the ground. He tried to stanch the blood with his hand; he convulsed in mute agony, but he did not cry out. He fought to stay conscious.

"That'll keep him from running away, but he can still work on the trebuchet. If Ruadan wants him, we have him handy, and if he don't, well… he can work. Till he drops, that is!" He laughed, and he prodded at Merlin with his dagger again.

"He don't look like he has much fight in him, but tie him up anyway."

The group laughed, nodding at the general wisdom in this course of action. The men all dismounted to take a break. One of them bound Merlin's hands together in front of him and looped the rope over the pommel of his saddle and then joined his companions in passing around a flask of alcohol, and a bite of food.

Merlin panted through his pain, slowly recovering enough to clumsily rip a piece of his shirt off and use it to put pressure on his wound. He was dizzy and his leg was burning, pulsing with his own heartbeat, but his focus never wavered.

Someone named Ruadan was going to attack Camelot.

"Not on my watch," thought Merlin, though his leg trembled with weakness as he struggled to stand up. His captors remounted and readied to ride. He had to keep going.

AN HOUR LATER

Merlin limped along behind the horse, his leg was throbbing and he winced with every step. The flow of blood had slowed, but his pants and socks were soaked through. His boot squelched sickly with each step. But he was strong enough to keep going. At least that's what he thought until they drew close to the source of the devastation.

Even in the dark of night, Merlin could feel the aching emptiness of what had been a living forest the day before. Trees had been felled and dragged off, leaving huge gouges in the earth. There were mounds of dead plants and torn roots in enormous tangled heaps. Sharpen stumps stuck straight up in to the air in spots. Ahead, there were torches and sounds of men working.

It was the middle of the night, and yet men were working frantically. Fresh cut wood had been milled into lumber in a matter of hours. The whole area smelled of magic and wood. Ahead of him, still lit by torchlight, he made out the shadowy hulk of a partially constructed trebuchet. It was enormous. It would breach the walls of Camelot, and it had been built in less time than seemed possible.

He had to warn Arthur. No matter what happened next, he knew he had to warn Arthur. He hunched his shoulders as he was pulled along. He went deep inside himself to bring his life force into an arrow of thought. He had no spell for this kind of work but the guidance of his heart. Bound by their destiny, his magic responded to his need to warn Arthur, and so, like a crossbow, he bound his visual assessment of the scene as a warning. He had only to focus on the thought of Arthur. He cried out as the arrow of his thoughts left his heart and spirit. A bolt of dread shot through him, like the dark side of his own warning.

Would Arthur even understand? Would he dismiss it as a dream? Or even worse, would he be revealed?

Merlin reeled and fell to one knee. He struggled for a moment more, before he slumped to the ground, his dead weight dragging at the horse. The men were laughing.

"Fainted away, when he saw the Morrigan!"

"Chain him up inside of her, to keep the wheel going," said another. "He'll piss his pants when he wakes up!"

Merlin heard them only dimly. The laughter was mocking but the warlock did not care. He had reached the center of the attack, and he had just warned Arthur in the only way he could. He had done his best for the moment. The darkness covered his pain, and he was not sure if he dreamt, or if he hovered on the edge of consciousness. He decided it did not matter.


	4. Chapter 3: Nightmare

CHAPTER THREE

NIGHTMARE

"Arthur!"

Merlin's voice was tense and urgent, commanding his attention.

"Arthur!"

His voice was higher now, almost strained. Arthur's eyes went wide with shock. Broad swaths of the forest were cut down, and Arthur's leg burned viciously as he was pulled along a roughly made path through the forest destruction. He was tied by a long rope to the saddle of a rider in front of him. There was blood in his shoe. Even now, in the dark of night, men were working by torchlight. The place smelled of fresh wood. Dark shadows of laborers spread out on either side of the destruction of the forest. They were building something, something dangerous. A trebuchet. This was a plan to attack Camelot.

The King woke all at once, his heart pounding, reaching instinctively for his sword. Guinevere stirred, and he realized he had been caught in a dream. He tried to calm his breathing.

"I heard Merlin calling me," he said at last, to his wife with no preamble. "In my dream, the forest was cut down, and …" Here he paused, still fraught through with fear and the intensity of the warning. "There is a terrible danger. To Camelot."

Gwen was already rising, gathering the folds of her robe around her, as she took Arthur by the hand.

"Come," she said simply. They hurried along the corridors to Gaius' chamber, not even needing to talk, but joined in a sudden understanding that something terrible was beginning.

The old man answered the door so quickly that there was no doubt he had been awake. His eyes were solemn as he took in the appearance of the King and Queen and the expressions on their faces. They entered the room silently.

"Where's Merlin?" The king's voice was almost casual, despite the look in his eye.

"He's not here Sire. He left, late yesterday afternoon. Word came of a man injured badly in an accident, about two hours north of here. Merlin volunteered to go in my place to tend to him, and I did not hesitate to let him. He is more than competent."

"I had a dream," said Arthur. The bright hardness in his eyes told Gaius how deep fear had struck him, that the young king stood confessing a nightmare to his old mentor in the middle of the night. "Merlin called to me. The forest was all cut down and I was being forced along a path. There were many men working by torchlight, building something terrible. A weapon."

"I could not sleep," said the old man, indicating his still steaming cup of tea.

He did not think he should tell the King that he had dreamed of the cry of a raven. He could not bear to say that the cry still reverberated in his soul; it had been heavy with death and terror. He had dreamed of blood spattered onto leaves, soaking into the ground and all the while, the screaming keen of the desecrated earth had pierced him through, like a knife. He could not speak of these things to Arthur.

" I am an old man with an old man's complaints," he said at last.

"Do you think something has happened to Merlin? How will we find him," asked Gwen as she looked between the two men. She was frustrated with words unspoken.

"It was a warning," said the physician at last. His eyes were steady, masking the fear he ate at him. "I have felt a foreboding, something terrible…"

"Danger approaches Camelot from the north," said Arthur decisively. There was no discussion that the warning had come through a dream. "I will wake the knights and send a patrol to scout for areas of logging."

Grimly, the trio looked at each other, fearful and hopeful, wondering what this new threat could be and beginning to suspect that some evil had befallen Merlin.

SIX HOURS LATER

Arthur had dispatched Gwaine and Leon, along with a small patrol in the late night, rousing his men from their sleep. Despite a fading hope, Merlin had not returned. His riderless horse had found on the outskirts of the city, two hours after Arthur had sent the knights out on their mission. His knights had returned from their patrol only a few hours after that. Their serious faces awakened the sense of danger that had accompanied his dream. Arthur took a deep breath as they entered the hall to give their report.

"A large area has been logged Sire, and there is a sizeable contingent of men building an enormous structure." Leon's voice was urgent. "They displayed no banner, nor wore any insignia. The parts were already being loaded onto wagons. It's clearly a siege engine, Arthur, a trebuchet."

Arthur nodded but he said nothing. They could not know that Arthur's dream had included that detail, but he had not told Gaius or Gwen. It hit him like an arrow finding a target.

"Its range will be enormous," warned Gwaine. "The rapidity of their progress speaks of some kind of help, Sire. Magical help." Arthur's glare was immediate. "The trees appear to be newly logged, within a day, but they are already processed into rough lumber, and many parts of the engine were already built. It should take months to build a siege engine of that size, not days."

"Merlin has not returned," the King said stiffly. Leon recalled suddenly, the hollow grief in Arthur's eyes when Merlin had gone missing once before; the bloodstained scrap of jacket in Arthur's hand and Agravaine's oily, sympathetic voice, came back to his mind with nightmare detail.

"His horse came back."

Leon's heart raced because he knew what he had to say next.

The silence between the two men grew deeper. Gwaine pulled Merlin's medical satchel forward from under his cape. The imprinted seal of the Pendragon symbol was burned into the leather. It had been made that way at Arthur's own suggestion.

Gwaine was uncharacteristically silent as he laid the satchel on the table between them. Arthur did not need to look at either Gwaine or Leon to know there would be murder in their eyes. He found he could not tear his eyes away from his own heraldic symbol. His next words chilled Arthur down to his very bones.

"We found it in some gorse bushes near a crossroads an hour and half north of here, Arthur," said Gwaine. "There was a dead man by the side of the road. We followed the tracks for a bit. Four men on horseback and one on foot. There was blood." Arthur went pale, the details of his dream stabbed at him.

"But we had to stop following the track." Gwaine's voice held steady. "It was leading right into the heart of where they were building the trebuchet. That's how we got close enough to get a look."

The King was silent. He was a warrior and he was not a fool. But the bright place in his heart that filled by Merlin's friendship suddenly threatened to go dark, and he could not move for the shock of it.

"Arthur, " said Leon gently, as if he was interrupting.

"The idiot's gone and gotten himself captured," the king managed to say, rather gruffly, after another heartbeat. Arthur bowed his head and pinched his nose, as if his terrible calm could somehow save his friend from what had already happened. He did not allow himself to envision the worst scenario, but his heart steeled itself, anyway. "Merlin," he whispered almost to himself.

"We will need to attack," said the King strongly, after a moment. "Gather the knights and we will review a strategy. We have no way of knowing who is behind this attack. Perhaps it is the Sarrum; perhaps another magical foe. As you say Gwaine. Their progress has been almost miraculous. We have little time. "

Gwaine and Leon shared a look of pain, as Arthur turned away, looking out the window. In retrospect, the story of an injured man had probably only been a ruse to capture someone from the King's household. Only they knew how much it cost Arthur, to focus on the defense of Camelot, as his heart sank with the real likelihood that his friend had been captured. The possibility that Merlin had already been killed or tortured for information loomed unspoken.

AT THE SAME MOMENT

Merlin panted in pain. His wound was throbbing with his heartbeat, and he sank down to his knees by the side of the wagon, where he had been tied, along with the other captives. He prayed he could rest for just a few minutes more. His body ached, along with the pulsing pain in his leg. They were being used for labor, and Merlin had been forced to expend some of his energy is disguising his own power. He did not want any hint of his presence to reach the sorcerer who headed this attack, until the last possible moment. Merlin was calculating, hoping against all hope, that the confusion and wildness of battle, might hide his presence for a bit more after he defended the walls of Camelot. He wished he wasn't quite so dizzy.

One of his captors, shoved him down to the muddy ground, and his wound awoke with a fierce fire and a gush of blood that forced a gasp from him. His head reeled. His vision narrowed and everything went gray slowly. When he gained awareness again, he was lying in the wagon. To his horror, Ruadan, himself, was walking among his men, reviewing each and every wagon. Merlin's magic tingled as the other sorcerer approached and he struggled to cloak himself in quiet. He lay still, hardly daring to breathe. He was only a filthy, half dead captive, brought along to build and power the trebuchet. Unworthy of notice, human refuse, perhaps not even that. Ruadan's eyes slid over him and Merlin held steady. No hint of who he truly was had alerted the sorcerer. He dare not sigh in relief.

Ruadan moved on to the next wagon and still Merlin did not move. Long tense minutes moved by. Minutes seemed like months. Merlin felt incredibly thirsty. He prayed for water, even though he knew he would receive none. He knew he dare not falter now and so he focused himself on only one thing. Saving Camelot. Merlin wiped the sweat from his face with trembling hand, as he slowly inched himself out of the wagon. His legs buckled as reached the ground but he pulled himself up by will alone. The white walls of his home were still ahead, but their defense was already sure.


	5. Prologue: Part Two Macha

PART TWO MACHA

PROLOGUE

Ruadan scried in a bowl of silver, the light of his magic flaring across his serene features as he became one with his magic. He felt his power fill him. The gleaming walls of Camelot rose before him in his vision. The quiet green of trees and fields echoed around him. He awaited a sign to tell him where and when his attack should begin. All was in readiness. The wagons were loaded with the gigantic pieces of the trebuchet, he had dubbed, the Morrigan. He waited.

He knew that the he had awakened dark forces by his use of magic to assault the forest and build the trebuchet at the speed of lightning. He knew the goddess would demand recompense for his actions. Ruadan deemed it worth the risk. He had long harbored his strength for this one unexpected attack. He saw nothing revealed in the glowing waters and still he waited. Patience.

As he so often did, his mind recalled happier memories. He remembered his first glimpse of the Isle of the Blessed. It had been twilight, and the priestesses had raised their voices in chant as he and his father had ridden over the still waters to the shrine of magical powers. The music of the voices had raised a shimmering glow of many colors that rose in a spiral above the island. He almost believed he could hear his mother's voice among the chorus. The colors wove and intertwined in marvelous patterns; destiny and chance were intertwined, there had been joy, there had been beauty. He remembered his fathers face, lit up in happiness in the reflected magic of their song. The air had echoed with each musical note, heavy with sorcery, and he remembered how his breath had caught in his throat. The beauty of that memory soured as he recalled the ruined hulk of that holy place.

Still trying to recall happier thoughts, he called forth the image of his daughter. She was a beautiful child, already a young woman, actually. She was intelligent and gentle by nature. She was the image of her mother. The mere thought of her smile made any moment better. Despite her lineage, she had no ability at magic, and therein lay one of Ruadan's deepest disappointments.

He mourned the loss of not being able to pass on his knowledge of sorcery, gained at such perilous cost, to the next generation. He deeply regretted that Sefa could not share in the true bond of closeness between father and daughter who both possessed magic. At least, her lack of magic made her safe from the persecution that had dogged him, his whole life. But that was no poor recompense.

His own child would never really understand him or his struggle. He loved her but he made little time to spend with her. He knew it was best if she was not a part of his world.

He tried not to imagine how she might feel. He did not want to remember her clear and loving eyes, so full of trust and longing. No.

But the fault was not Sefa's; in a happier world, her handicap would not have been anything but a minor problem. It was the fault of the Pendragon and their unceasing war on magic, that made it an issue of division. His mind wandered again to his own mother and the Isle of the Blessed.

Once is had been a place of blessing; now it was a maelstrom of horror. Ghosts of power lingered in the blasted halls of the Isle of the Blessed. The death cries of priestesses, who had been slaughtered in the dead of night, rode on the wind. His mother and all her kin keened in the endless tumult. There were nights he was sure he heard her voice in the streaming horror. His pain was beyond tears. Deeper than betrayal. Beyond anger.

Darkness stirred in the heart of his scrying at last. The night was coalescing before his eyes, even though his eyes were filled with the tears of his memories. The wavering shadows of trees eclipsed his vision, and he felt again the beloved caress of his goddess' hands as she touched the crown of his head.

It was she who brings war. Macha. Grian Banchure.

She stroked his face; her hands were sticky with blood as she raised his face to hers. Her lips were soft on his forehead, and she smelled of battle. Smoke and blood, entrails, death. She glowed with a brutal beauty, her hair curling in dark tresses down her back; her eyes were blazing. Macha.

Her bloody hands traced magic symbols on his forehead and on the palms of his hands. The walls of Camelot outlined every curve of her body as she knelt before him.

"You have killed the forest to make a weapon of war and now you must answer to me. Shall I praise you?" Her question hung coyly in the air. "Or murder you?" She paused again, her smile was a knife held to his throat. "The battle is here, tomorrow when the sun is high, and I will have my due. Only this will appease me," she whispered, in his ear. "Only this."

She laughed as she bent down and pulled a human head from the ground, as if she was some local hedge witch pulling a carrot from her garden.

"You will have your revenge but only after you have lost everything in the battle, Ruadan. Do you begin to understand? Do you dare to serve me?" her tone was silky. She leaned in close to him, and he was surrounded with her presence, her power. He raged inside, longing for the bloodshed that would slake her demand. Longing to do her bidding filled his heart.

"Bury the heads of my warriors, " she hissed. "Bury them, after you have seen the power of Emrys, and you will have victory in your grasp. Be bold!" Her voice coiled and hissed in his heart, searching out each anger than fueled his resolve. She threw the head at his feet. It had pale hair and a crown, and though the face was smudged black, and clotted with blood, it was easy to recognize. Faded blue eyes shone balefully from the dead face of Arthur of Camelot, and Ruadan rejoiced.

"You will have your victory, but only this," and here she smiled again, "only this, will appease me."

Revenge would soon be his.


	6. Chapter 4: Rescue

CHAPTER FOUR: RESCUE

TWO HOURS LATER

Arthur appeared anxious as the knights gathered, pacing periodically as people came and went in the shuffle. Gwen and Gaius had joined the Round Table Knights as they found their seats at the table. The place where Merlin stood behind the King was noticeably vacant, and the knights murmured among themselves.

"There is an enemy force coming from the north, with a partially assembled siege engine," began Arthur somewhat awkwardly. " The trebuchet is enormous, so I want the northern walls of Camelot manned with my best bowmen, as well as many fighting men as we can muster. Leon will coordinate the defense of the walls, along with Elyan. Bring the people from the lower town into the castle. I charge both of you with the safety of the Queen. Gwaine, Percival and I will lead the search to destroy the trebuchet before it can be used." Here he paused. "We believe Merlin was captured, so I ask all of you…"

He looked steadily around at his gathered warriors. He could not bear to look at Gaius. "We must find him."

There was a terrific roaring in the air and a tremendous thud. It reverberated along the walls with a strange thrumming. The horror of it shook each of them. Everything changed in the space of seconds.

"Gaius, take Guinevere to safety." Arthur's voice was even, almost emotionless. The king gave his wife a moment's gaze that seemed to both torture and embolden him, an intensely private exchange.

"Follow me," he said simply to the Round Table knights, after a heartbeat more.

They set out at run, rushing to the battlements as a second blow from the trebuchet roared into the air. Just as he gained the view, he saw the burning mass rising in its trajectory towards the walls of Camelot. But just as their destruction seemed in evitable, the flaming mass met with a shimmering veil, that exploded with sorcerous gold at the point of impact, and the blazing mass slid strangely and slowly down the shimmering barrier until it hit the ground with a thud, and the veil erased itself from view. As the Camelot walls reverberated with the echo of magical power, the knights shouted in surprise and relief.

"Sorcery!"

"Sorcery that saved Camelot!"

Arthur heard Gwaine's triumphant whooping in the distance. The King was shocked but he found himself hoping the sorcerous defense would continue, even as he vowed to root its source out. Yes, he promised himself, he would root out the sorcerers and thank them!

The trebuchet was indeed enormous. It was set at least two hundred yards back from the walls of Camelot. It had twin wheels where two teams of men labored to bring the bucket down for another launch. There were additional men chained within the wheel, helping to move the bucket as well. The structure would surely reach three hundred feet into the air when it's arm released.

It was impossible that so large a war engine could have been constructed in the short time that Gwaine and Leon had gone on their mission. In the short time, since he had dreamed of his servant calling his name. Sorcery sent fear snaking along their thoughts as they gazed, awestruck at the giant trebuchet.

"Leon, go to the lower town to bring the people to safety. Elyan, organize the bowmen and coordinate from here. Percival and Gwaine, with me. Hurry!"

Arthur left the Great Hall, running along the corridors to the armory. There was a cache of smoke bombs in a bucket, just as he recalled. He passed them along to the knights as they readied their attack on the trebuchet itself. The knights stripped themselves of their red capes with the bold insignia of Camelot. Instead, they put on shapeless homespun tunics to hide their shining mail, and covered themselves further with patched dark cloaks. They smudged their faces with ashes and raced out into the shadows of the dangerously bright afternoon light.

AT THE SITE OF THE TREBUCHET

Merlin trembled with exhaustion and pain, as he trod the wheel of the trebuchet, chained to a partner by waist irons. The wound he had taken to his thigh when he was captured along the road, was still bleeding sluggishly, although he had bound it with cloth ripped from his own shirt. It had only been his play-acting the fool with his four captors that had saved him from being taken to the sorcerer directing the construction of the trebuchet. He had escaped Ruadan's notice. Instead, he had been chained here to help power the siege engine.

He had been able to stop the first and second blows of the trebuchet, using his magic. It had been easy to disguise his eyes and his chanting under the creaking and groaning of the trebuchet. There had been total consternation when the launch failed to do any damage and there were many cries about a sorcerer in Camelot. Merlin found it almost humorous, almost. He was dizzy. The consequences of his injury and the drain of the magic on his energy slowed his reactions. He fell and tumbled helplessly as the wheel kept moving.

"Get up, " hissed the man who was chained to him. "Get up or they bring out the whip. Get up, I tell you!"

Merlin groaned as he hauled himself up, his head groggy, his knees aching unbearably. Blood was now pouring into his boot again. It squelched as he trudged. The secret warlock gasped as he fell again, stumbling once more in exhaustion and pain. His partner grabbed him roughly by the neck and pulled him upwards.

"Get up," yelled the guard, as he saw Merlin fall the second time. Incredibly, Merlin stayed on his feet, with his partner's rough help and gestured that he could go on. Soon they would begin loading the bucket with rocks and Greek fire and then they could stop. At last, the wheel ground to a stop and Merlin sank down gratefully. He hoped he had the strength to power another defense of the castle.

As he caught his breath, he tried to ignore his pain by thinking of his friends. He thought of Gwaine, a cup held up in a toast, laughter painted on his every feature. Elyan's smile was like a mirror of Gwen's dark eyes beaming at him. He saw Leon and Percival's quiet approval as they sat around the fire with him on those hunting nights.

He thought of Gaius, and his heart began to break. This wasn't helping. He remembered the old physician looking at his book by the fire, only a few days ago, or was it another lifetime? He no longer knew. He could not bear to think of Arthur. Pain throbbed through his leg as he tried to get up again. The bucket trembled against the torque of the siege engine. Soon its terrible burden would be unleashed against his home. Against Camelot. His home. He could not fail Arthur.

The trebuchet was launched and the whole structure shot back violently, knocking Merlin hard against the wheel behind him. The waist iron cut into his back, and his partner groaned as well.

The air filled with smoke suddenly. There were loud screams. As Merlin struggled to focus, his head still confused from the blow, he saw there were flaming arrows stuck into the frame of the trebuchet. Fire licked along the edge of the wheel above him and the base of the arm. There was yelling and fighting all around him.

More quickly than he ever thought possible, he rose to his feet. Merlin summoned all his strength and closed his eyes. His magic swirled strong and sure, adamantine in its certainty. Not having the time to incant a spell, Merlin dug deeper into himself. He stopped the flaming load of rocks and Greek fire with the raw strength of his will, his magic flaring bright as it stopped the missile. A massive shining arc of blue light shot out of the wheel of the trebuchet, expanding and protecting the walls of Camelot like a shield. It quickened like lightning; a thunderous roar shaking the ground. Everything was lit by a strange preternatural color of blue. Details stood out in the harsh shadows.

At the same moment, the shimmering blue shield disappeared., merlin dropped in a boneless heap. The echo of the clash vibrated through the walls of Camelot and shook the ground around him once more for a long moment. Merlin's strength bled away in a sudden gushing rush of power. He gasped for air.

The man who was chained to him was gurgling. An arrow was buried in his back, all the way up to the shaft. To Merlin's horror, his gurgling ceased after a few, torturous, unending moments. He pushed frantically at the inert body and the chains that bound them together. He tried to break the chain with magic, his eyes flaring gold but he couldn't think straight, and his magic went awry. He was so dizzy and the world was spinning. The smoke was intensifying, choking him and his vision was blurred.

He squinted. He saw an almost familiar shadow looming through the smoke. He thought it was Percival and tried to call out, but his voice seized in his throat. The tall knight turned towards him anyway. Armed with an enormous axe, the knight's face was strange and frightening in the shadows and glow of the fire that wreathed the wheel. The knight's arms reared back and the axe fell thunderously close to Merlin, splitting the chain that bound him to his dead partner. His leg wound shuddered into agony with the force of the blow and Merlin screamed. It was a terrible high-pitched cry of fear and desperation and completely unbearable pain. He called out for his friend, against all reason, against all hope.

"Arthur!"

Merlin was certain he heard Arthur's answering cry from the chaos around him. Panting in pain, he summoned one last burst of strength to get up. He heard his name again.

"Merlin!"

He struggled to his knees, blindly searching for Arthur through the smoke and fire, but he crumpled helplessly almost immediately. His right leg was useless. He started to crawl using his arms, but incredibly, Percival was beside him. The knight with the axe had been his friend after all. Merlin cried out again in the shock of recognition.

Now, Percival was mercilessly dragging him away from the fire, gripping him firmly under the shoulder and finally pulling him upright. Merlin threw one arm around his savior as he tripped and stumbled, valiantly trying to keep up, but finally giving way to being carried. His vision dimmed as the huge knight lifted him once more and he slipped into unconsciousness.

That was how Arthur found them, moments later.


	7. Chapter 5: Aftermath

CHAPTER FIVE

AFTERMATH

IN THE WOODS, AN HOUR LATER

"He's coming around."

The echo of the goddess' voice reverberated across the vision that now hung in tatters in Merlin's dream. He fought his way free of the horror. An image of Ruadan haunted him. His face was anointed with blood, his hands glowed with magic. Arthur's head mocked him. He was filled with revulsion at his failure. His soul burned with shame, until at last, bit by bit, the vision faded and he realized he was not where he had been.

"He's still bleeding a lot," said another voice in concern.

"He needs Gaius. "

"Elyan's almost done with the litter," said Percival quietly." Merlin groaned. Arthur's dead eyes haunted him.

Someone held a drink of water to Merlin's lips and he took a sip. His head ached and his leg was on fire, bandaged very tightly. He was safe. A terrible weariness blanketed him.

Some one carefully shifted him. There was gentleness in the touch that reminded him of Gaius. The smell of blood was in the air. Some how he knew it was his own. A cool cloth was laid against his forehead, and the touch of the water revived him a little. He tried to sit up, but the movement wrenched a cry from him.

As he panted through the pain, voices soothed him, but nothing made sense for a while. Had he warned Arthur in time? He remembered the falling rocks and the glint of fire as his magic stopped the siege

engine's deadly missile. The blue light. He relaxed. Someone was gently smoothing his hair. A familiar voice urged him to breathe. Someone had raised his legs, piling them on something soft. The pain was easing.

"Arthur," he whispered. "You, here?"

"Yeah," said the king. Merlin nodded, a small smile curving his lips, but he didn't open his eyes. The servant relaxed, and a painful, contented sigh escaped him. After a few moments, he spoke again.

"How'd you find me?"

"Anyone could have found you," said Arthur with a snort. "The knights and I could hear your girly, falsetto screams all the way from the walls of Camelot."

"Could not," huffed the servant, opening his eyes at last to see it was his King and his friends who tended him. Their smiles were familiar; it was like coming home. Merlin knew he would be forgiven if his eyes now burned with tears of relief and affection, as he looked about.

"You did, too" laughed Gwaine. Percival nodded.

"You did," teased Arthur.

Merlin smiled. The nightmare of being chained to the wheel, the sense of horror that had consumed him for hours, began to ease. He was safe with Arthur and the knights. It was over. He no longer needed to keep going. The heavy knowledge that he might not be able to warn Camelot faded at last. He had not failed Arthur.

Each knight began to murmur and tease the servant in turn. Just to keep him smiling. The congratulated him and berated him. They laughed, as they always did. The king for his part listened with only half his awareness at the familiar repartee. It soothed him.

He gave profound thanks that Percival had found Merlin almost immediately during their guerilla attack. The trebuchet had been destroyed and the enemy force routed, after the magical defense of Camelot, but the mystery of their identity of the attackers was still unsolved. For that matter, the identity of the sorcerer who had defended the walls of Camelot and ended the attack was also unknown. Despite the danger of unknown enemies scattered in the woods around them, Arthur's world had righted itself. Merlin was beside him.

To his horror, he began to hear screams. Haunting shrieks hung in the air, one after another, as they crouched there beside their injured friend. The Knights looked at one another. Merlin looked alarmed and then mutely horror struck, as he looked at each of them, in turn. One scream after another echoed through the forest, each cry cut short.

"They are killing their own warriors, Arthur," said Leon grimly. Gwaine looked about to explode. The King nodded grimly in assent, and the knights looked at each other, each one taking strength from the fact that they were together in this new peril.

"Arthur," said Merlin, faintly. "Listen to me." His voice grew stronger and his eyes were blazing in his ashen face. "Don't let him bury the heads," he blurted. "Don't let him do it! Arthur, listen…" Gwaine caught the King's eye darkly, and Arthur realized that Merlin was delirious. He had never felt his heart break in quite this way.

"Let go, …" gasped Merlin as he pushed against them. "I've got to… I've got to…" he panted as he struggled to sit up. He cried out in pain, but he managed to get himself upright for a moment. Blood began to stain the fresh bandages on his thigh, as he struggled.

"Help me up, Arthur", he begged, as he tried to push himself up to his knees. After only a moment, he sagged against the King for support. Blood was now pouring out of the wound at an alarming rate.

"Don't, Merlin," soothed the King, as he caught his friend and began to lower him to the ground again. "Don't move. Please don't move. You're bleeding again. " His friend looked up at him desperately, his eyes filled with a determination that Arthur recognized but couldn't understand.

But as the terrible cries continued to echo around them, sending tremors of dread among all of them, Arthur felt another terror return. Merlin lost consciousness. His dark head suddenly dropped back limply against his shoulder, his eyes slipped shut.

"Merlin," he cried, almost panicked. Gwaine was frantic as well, trying to rouse him again, with little success. Their friend was still breathing but he wasn't responding any more. Gwaine began to slap him gently, but Arthur stopped him with a gesture, after only a few heart breaking moments.

"No… please," he said, in desperate tone, completely unfamiliar to his knights. "He can't take anymore," He was pleading. Arthur never did that.

Gwaine nodded. It was clear Merlin was unconscious. It would be easier to move him if he was less aware. Arthur found he could not bear to bring his friend any more suffering, than he had already endured. He told himself that the nightmare that had begun this day had been a blessing. He held on to the fact that Merlin was alive and Camelot was safe.

Despite his derisive, joking words to his friend, whenever Arthur closed his eyes, he could still hear his servant's voice raised in agony and screaming his name, as if the world was ending. The sound had shivered along his soul and ripped him open. It opened up an abyss that he had known once before and never wanted to know again. It would haunt him.

"Shhh," soothed Arthur, although Merlin could not hear him. The screams were fewer and less often now. But they hovered and trembled in the trees. "Shhhh. I'll get you home, I promise."


	8. Chapter 6: Mercy

CHAPTER SIX

MERCY

THE NEXT MORNING

The blackened hulk of the trebuchet still smoked faintly in the morning air. Parts of it were charred to ash, other parts were still only blackened, and other parts still glowed bright with heat, although it was only embers now. The body of a man, his clothing burned away, and his flesh shriveled from his bones, lay chained within one of the broken wheels with an arrow in his back. That had nearly happened to Merlin. Arthur looked away. This is where Percival had found him.

Even though he did not want to, he could not stop thinking of his last look at his friend. Gwen and Gaius had been hovering, and Merlin had been motionless, barely breathing. His friend had been so pale, that he looked almost translucent, like a figure made of wax. Gaius had explained that Merlin's wound had re-opened several times during his captivity, each time the hemorrhage had drained him, and his blood loss was now at a critical level. He was seriously dehydrated from his captivity, as well, but Gaius could do no more than give him a few sips of water every half hour or so, knowing anything more might cause him harm, and overtax his kidneys. If he could pull through until his own body made a bit more blood, he might make it. Or he might die. The King could bear to think of it no more.

That was why Arthur was out here, investigating this aftermath of the battle. He could not bear to sit and wait for Merlin to slip away in front of him, while he watched helpless. He couldn't sit there and pray that every breath be followed by another one, in a cycle of pleading, unless he wanted to run screaming, like a madman, down the halls of his own castle. He hoped Merlin would forgive him. He knew if the situation were reversed, his friend would have never left his side. He mentally kicked himself once more for being a total cabbagehead.

Gwaine and Leon were scouting ahead of him. He could see them prodding at bodies, here and there. Arthur forced himself to think. He could not afford to indulge in feelings right now. A burial contingent was already digging a mass grave for the fallen. He could hear their spades and shovels.

He looked at the position of the trebuchet relative to Camelot, estimating the distance. If it had not been for the magic of an unidentified sorcerer, those walls would be gaping holes of masonry now, he thought.

A piece of the trebuchet wheel was still upright. Arthur touched it, still giving thanks in his heart to any power that would listen, that Merlin was alive. As his hand came away, he saw a shimmer of silver on his palm.

He touched the charred edge of the trebuchet again. There was a faint silver residue on the blackened surface. It clung to his hand. It was clearly visible against the dark surface, but as Arthur looked more carefully, he noticed it was actually dusting the whole area. And it was most visible on upright surfaces.

As he looked at his hand, he looked out over the clear area in front of him. There. He saw the same shimmer on the leaves of bushes. Now that he knew to look for it, he saw it coated everything in front of him. He remembered the blast of blue that had illumined the defense of Camelot, as they attacked the trebuchet. He saw again, in his memory, the harsh shadows, the blazing light that had stopped the deadly missile. Perhaps this was some kind of residue, or ash or something. Magic. After his first feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach eased; he realized, that this was evidence of the magic that had saved Camelot

He called the knights back to him, and explained what he had found. Once they saw the faint silver shimmer, it was obvious to all of them, that it powdered the entire scene lightly. It was almost invisible. A single brief rain would have obliterated it completely. As Arthur watched, Gwaine and Leon followed the edge of the residue. They saw it emanated from the wheel of the trebuchet. Behind the trebuchet, there was no residue. Where Merlin had been chained.

But before Arthur could begin to think what that meant, Gwaine's words raised a new specter, as he turned back to look at the King.

"They cut the heads off of all the fighting men and taken them, Arthur. Every single one. I've seen at least twenty corpses, but no heads. There are probably more."

There was a terrible silence as they all remembered the haunting shrieks of the night before. They could not forget Merlin struggling, talking about heads in his delirium. He had warned them not to let them bury the heads.

Some terrible dark sorcery was here. Magic had felled the forest and built the trebuchet at incredible speed. The trebuchet. Where Merlin had been chained.

He remembered the blue light flashing around him as he led the attack. Arthur sat down on a burned stump, feeling dazed. Merlin was the sorcerer, who had saved Camelot. It all started to make sense, even though he didn't want to believe it.

He looked back at Gwaine and Leon, his face shocked, by more than the horror of the headless bodies.

"You know what to look for," he said at last, to his knights. "Let's hope they haven't buried the heads." They did not question his terse response. His knights had not left his side since they had found Merlin, and they knew Arthur was deeply upset, despite his calm demeanor.

His mind reeled in shock; he wasn't sure he could even put the words together. He could not bring himself to share his private conclusions with Gwaine and Leon. He wasn't sure he ever wanted to think about it, ever again. But he did.

Reality had changed. Merlin. Merlin had magic. His heart was broken. He fought the sense of betrayal, but at last it filled him. Magic always brought betrayal, and in his pain, the memory of Morgana's eyes echoed bitterly. He wondered what things Merlin had lied to him about, and a thousand questions began to torment him. Uncertainty ground him into stunned anger. He wondered how many times Merlin may have mocked him for a fool.

The King got to his feet and began to look around at the trampled earth, knowing if they kept looking the might find the severed heads planted in the ground. The knights were already searching. He was queasy when he thought of what might happen if they didn't find the heads.

Merlin.

Arthur shivered, although the morning was not cold.

LATE AFTERNOON, THE SAME DAY

"Merlin." The voice was soft and familiar. "Merlin, wake up. Try to drink this."

Someone was raising his head and he sipped thirstily. The liquid was wonderfully cool. His eyes opened as he drank.

Gwen was smiling at him; her warm brown eyes assured him all was well. He could make out the white nimbus of Gaius' hair in the background, behind her. He swallowed once more.

"Arthur," he said as strongly as he could. His voice was hoarse.

"He'll be here soon," said Gwen very gently. She softly stroked his hair and he closed his eyes again, comforted. He slid away into sleep again.

Arthur opened the door to Gaius' chamber, where he had been waiting silently, during Merlin's brief foray into awareness. Hearing Merlin call for him immediately, made him feel unsettled. It caught at his heart and stabbed him. He didn't know how to feel.

"Leave us." Arthur's voice was quiet but brooked no delay. Gaius looked up, giving the King a sudden frightened look that only reinforced Arthur's suspicions about Merlin. Gwen did not understand his urgency, but moved aside.

"Can he hear me," asked the King.

"He rouses to our voices, but he has lost so much blood, it is difficult for him to remain conscious for very long, Arthur. He is dangerously weak. I must caution you…"

But Arthur cut him off. He could bear to hear no more. Not news of impending death, no useless precautions against the worst.

"Leave us," he said again. His voice was edged with steel.

The room quieted around him, but he did not look or talk to anyone; not even Guinevere. He could not look at them because he could not look away from his friend. He could not believe that he had never seen Merlin for who he truly was. A sorcerer.

This was the sorcerer that had saved Camelot. The sorcerer that had walked like a shadow at his side, lying about who he was. The thought was bitter, even as he acknowledged that he owed his life to Merlin, more times than he could count. He was torn.

Merlin still had that waxen look. His face was gaunt. He was breathing slowly, his lips bloodlessly pale. He might have thought he was looking at a corpse, if it had not been for the subtle movement of his chest.

Despite his new knowledge, Arthur suddenly found, he saw no danger from magic. His sense of betrayal faded. He only saw Merlin, his servant, his friend. He could not help himself. Even though he hated himself for so easily losing resolve, his feeling overwhelmed him in a sea of change.

Anger gave way to something closer to mercy. Sorcerer or not, this was Merlin.

Arthur only had to close his eyes to hear Merlin screaming his name in a voice of utter despair, in the face of certain death, only the day before. He had heard the idiot whisper his name right now. How could he ever doubt his loyalty? The thoughts that had tormented him as he realized that Merlin had magic began to drop away.

He took his friend's hand in his own and Merlin opened his eyes immediately. Their familiar sparkle lit an ember of hope in his friend's heart.

"Arthur," he whispered. There was contentment in his voice.

"I'm here," answered Arthur, more softly than he intended. He had wanted to sound strong. He abandoned his pretentions. But to his fright, Merlin's eyes had already slipped shut again. His only friend looked like he was barely alive and an unthinkable moment was on him. Arthur was shaken to his core.

"Merlin," he called. For a moment he wondered if he was going mad. He was looking at a sorcerer and calling his name. A sorcerer of tremendous power. He thought of the silver shimmer coating a whole landscape. He thought of the massive conglomeration of Greek fire heading towards the walls of Camelot and the massive roar and shaking as it fell, useless to the ground. He looked away from his servant, his most constant companion for many years, as his father's voice thundered in the past.

"Merlin, " he said again, softly, there was regret and wonderment in his tone. He wanted to weep, but his pride would not let him.

Merlin's hand tightened around his own and the smallest of smiles touched his lips. He knew Arthur was there. As he watched, the King saw an almost invisible tranquility fall over his friend's features; his servant was at peace with himself. It struck a dread into Arthur's heart. It frightened him beyond reason.

He had seen warriors, mortally wounded; fight to live for days, for just one last moment with a loved one. He knew, with an awful certainty, Merlin had been waiting for him. His stomach clenched and fell into some torturous netherworld.

"No you don't, Merlin," cried Arthur in a piercing tone. "You stay with me!"

Alone, with the man who had saved his kingdom and told him a thousand lies, Arthur forgot his pride. He wanted to cry out but instead he whispered.

"I know you have magic, Merlin."

He hardly knew what he thought the words would mean to his servant, or if he could even hear him. It just had to be said. Maybe Arthur needed to convince himself. All he could offer was that he knew of his magic and was still by his side. His heart was a knot of fear.

Merlin's features were serene, strangely beautiful in their pallor. The King felt Merlin's hand tighten around his own, once more. An abyss opened and Arthur gasped in pain.

He was flooding with memories. He recalled in blazing detail, the first time he had met Merlin and their subsequent fight in the market. The idiot had been using magic, even then. How could he have missed it? Merlin had tripped him! More than once!

More images and memories of things he had glimpsed and forgotten began to flow into a cohesive whole. His memories came slowly at first, like a sprinkle of rain, and then they quickly became a driving storm; a storm that tore trees from their roots, and monarchs from their illusions.

Broken branches felled bandits. Fires always lit. Wyverns bowed. Convenient rock falls cut off dangers. Funny feelings served to warn a king who seldom listened. Wounds healed in only one night. He felt a sudden whirling wind. The sword in the stone. Excalibur. Weapons heated up and dropped from his adversary's hand. He remembered wise words at a time when he needed to hear them.

Merlin had been protecting him and Camelot, since the day they had met. He was filled with amazement and a thousand regrets. It was as if a rain was washing his blindness away. Magic had surrounded him, protected him. And he had been unaware; obtusely ignorant his whole life, to its presence.

He did not know how long he sat there, holding on to Merlin, like an anchor in a storm. He only knew his world was being re-written by the rain of memories, and he found it unbearable to think he might have to face this new world alone. The rain exposed the thousand mercies on Merlin's part that had saved life and limb and heart. He began to understand that Merlin's sacrifices were above loyalty. Destiny may have bound them together, but their unexpected friendship had been a gift of grace.

The rain of his forgotten glimpses of magic filled him and found it's way into even the deepest divisions of his doubts. It found the cracks of disbelief and closed them. He understood that Merlin had done all these miracles alone. Unthanked and in secret. All his greatest victories achieved under threat of death. Arthur's grief and joy were unbearable. Tears blinded him.

Merlin was still. So still. His features were tranquil. There was an undefinable quiet in the air that spoke of things eternal. Arthur was filled with dread. He leaned down to speak close in Merlin's ear, hoping, with all his heart, that his friend could still hear him.

"This is not the day you die, Merlin. Do you understand? Not after all that! Not now."

His voice was stern, but he knew he was begging. His heart was thundering in his chest. He dashed the tears from his eyes, ashamed of his outburst. And then he noticed something that overcame all reason.

Merlin's lips were normal. His face had color; his hands were warm. He shrieked aloud in disbelief, springing up from the place where he had kept his vigil.

Gaius came barreling into the room; fear was written on the old man's every feature as he bent low to take Merlin's pulse. To Arthur's surprise, the physician was struck dumb in amazement. The old man wiped tears from his eyes. Merlin stirred.

"You could wake the dead with that scream, Arthur," said his servant in a faint broken voice, as he opened his eyes.

The King dropped to his knees beside the bed once more. He grinned like a madman, and he swallowed hard, so he would not make a complete fool of himself.

"Could not," he said.

SUNSET, THE SAME DAY

Ruadan watched as the sun sank into the west. The sky lit up with subtle color, and faded quickly into darkness. He smiled; he had only to wait. From the trench-like graves he had dug for the gathered heads of his warriors, he felt an ill power start to stir.

Macha had promised they would rise. When he had lost everything, he would win his heart's desire. The downfall of Camelot. The head of Arthur Pendragon. An unfailing army of the dead would soon be his.

In the moonlight, he glimpsed the breaking earth around the heads of the slain, as they twisted and turned their way through the earth, as if they thirsted for the pale light of the moon. They twisted and writhed as if they grew in torment, until at last they sprang free with a cry. Some of them fell to their knees. Some stamped the earth and others raged. But all of them were girded with the shadow weapons of the spell and their unholy grins unsettled the powerful sorcerer, who had helped create them.

They turned their empty eyes towards the walls of Camelot. The power of the Morrigan fueled their existence, and magic stirred, at their creation, creating waves of dark power. The night fell silent in their presence. Ruadan walked at their head, vindication in his step, and retribution in his heart.

Camelot.


	9. Prologue: Part Three Nemain

PART III NEMAIN

PROLOGUE

Arthur could not sleep. He had not brought himself to tell Merlin, he knew of his magic again. He doubted that Merlin could recall the words that had triggered his revival as he had been on the brink of death. Arthur himself quailed from the knowledge, but he could not deny his changed recall of events in his life. Nor could he deny that Merlin had simply come back to him. The miracle of his friend's sudden revival was unexplainable.

Gaius tried of course, but his reasoning did not convince Arthur. Merlin had been close to death, and then, he wasn't. It made no sense. It was no magic he had ever seen, no glow of sorcerous gold, nothing but the strange rush of memories. He always had thought he knew magic when he saw it, but then he realized, he really wasn't much of expert in that area. He still shook his head in disbelief.

Merlin was alive, and magic or not, Arthur was still filled with a shocked awe and gratefulness for what had happened. Merlin was the sorcerer who had saved Camelot. And he had done it while he was chained up inside a trebuchet built my magic. Arthur hardly knew what to make of it. He felt a fear that there would be questions whose answers he didn't really want to hear. And he was certain there was another version of many events in his life. And again, he felt relief. By some strange magic or miracle, his friend had survived. He hardly knew what to think or feel.

Eluding Gwen's concern, he had promised he was only going for a short walk. But he left the confines of the castle, and went off the track of the main road almost immediately. On the other side of a dense thicket, there was a secluded inlet, where the fresh water of a natural stream was channeled into the moat. The water was fresher, than in the silt filled moat. He had loved its tranquility since he was a boy.

Arthur was soothed by the sound of the water, where it trickled and bubbled past the banks, moving over stones near the shallow edges of its path. The water was bright, even in the half-light of the moon and he drank it deeply. As he plunged his hand into the refreshing stream again, there was a taint of red in the water. A twisting trail of crimson slid through the pristine liquid. Blood. He looked upstream. A woman was washing clothes by the edge of the river. Her dress was of homespun gray. As she splashed in the water, she turned and looked directly at him.

Her eyes were dark in her oval face, but she said nothing. The moonlight was bright, giving the water a strange ashen glow. She lifted the clothing she was washing, holding it up for his inspection. He saw it was dark blue, filthy with mud and drenched in crimson. There were gaping holes in the garment. She plunged it back in the water, scrubbing at it, and then slapped it hard on nearby flat rock, her movements rhythmical and practiced. She looked up at him, after a few minutes of work. It was then, that he saw, she was weeping.

He came closer. The woman was not old, but neither was she young. Her hair lay in bright copper braids over her shoulders. She looked up at him again. He could not look away from her. Soon he was eye to eye with her, crouching in the water, with the tattered blue shirt between them. She continued to cry almost helplessly, as if her pain would never be assuaged. Tears slid down her cheeks.

"What are you doing, my lady," asked Arthur softly, as if he was trying to gentle something wild and untamable.

"I would not see him buried in a shirt covered in his own blood," she said, at last. "He was never a knight…" Her voice broke, as grief overcame her. Her shoulders shuddered and she sobbed, but Arthur was struck dumb. He did not dare to look down at the blue shirt. Fear made his heart pound.

"This is his favorite one, you know," There were tears in her eyes. She pushed the sodden mass into his hands. Merlin's shirt.

The world whirled into a pinpoint of horror. And then he was alone. A raven cried in the distance.


	10. Chapter 7: Beahn Nighe

CHAPTER 7

BEAHN NIGHE

"Where's Arthur?"

Gwaine looked serious, a sure sign that something was afoot. "Elyan was manning the walls and he saw …well, he saw something. I need to talk to Arthur."

Gwen felt her heart sink as she listened to the knight. She had tried to dissuade Arthur from a midnight walk, but she understood how hard the last two days had been on her husband. He was always unreachable when he was suffering the most, and he hardly allowed Gwen to comfort him. He had let her hold him wordlessly at the end of the day, when the burden of his strength had grown too heavy to bear. He was silent in his pain.

"He went for a walk," she began. At Gwaine's look of deepening concern, she continued. "He's been gone at least three hours now; he said he would be right back." She looked up at Gwaine; there was fear in both their faces. "He just needed to get some, … some air. And you know Arthur; he won't listen when…" Her voice trailed off at the end, faltering as she looked away.

"It's been hard on all of us, " he said far more gently than was his usual manner, and it brought tears to her dark eyes. "Your brother isn't sure what he saw, but we wanted to tell Arthur. So don't worry Gwen. I'll find him…" he said softly. "I promise."

As he walked away, Gwaine was glad that he had not shared what Elyan had seen. He was not a man inclined to panic. But he knew danger was close. There had been a foul smell and strange grey glow spotted from the walls. Strangely lit shapes flickered in the shadow of the woods around Camelot. Neither Elyan nor Gwaine had forgotten the ill-omened words Merlin had spoken in his delirium. He remembered the fear in his eyes. He could not forget the dozens of headless bodies that had surrounded the devastation of the trebuchet.

He could forgive Arthur for his sleeplessness, but he was deeply worried about where he had gone. Merlin might know. And Merlin was a …

He stopped stock still in the hallway. What was he thinking!

Merlin would kill him if he weren't told. He felt a huge misgiving fill him, but he knew he should never forgive himself if he did not tell his friend what was happening.

Even though he had not seen Merlin since the moment he had disappeared into Gaius' chamber, barely breathing and pale as death itself, he knew that Merlin had revived. Everyone was saying his recovery was miraculous.

When it came to his friend, Gwaine was prepared to believe almost anything could happen. His mind returned to a recent conversation with Leon, but he put aside the complications. He ran back the way he had come, but this time he bypassed the royal quarters, and descended to the to the door of the physician. The knight knocked and entered.

Merlin was sitting in a huge chair, half slumped, wrapped in a blanket, looking at the fire. An uneaten bowl of gruel was cooling on the table. It looked disgusting. At first Gwaine felt a start of fear, but then his friend turned and looked up with a smile. The knight breathed a sigh of relief.

Merlin looked well, but somewhat tired or stunned. The familiar sparkle in his eye healed his concerns. The recovering servant spoke up quickly, before Gaius could forbid him to move.

"Hi Gwaine! Glad to see you. I'm bored to death." His words stuttered forth in a rapid chain.

"Merlin, …" came Gaius' warning growl.

"Let's go for a walk," suggested Merlin, He rose to his feet. He immediately tried to reassure his mentor that he was in no danger, even though it was the middle of the night. "Gwaine will guard me like a mother hen, Gaius. Promise! "

"A mother hen", echoed Gwaine immediately. He tried his best to look protective. Merlin tossed his blanket at the chair and the old physician snorted in disgust.

"Make him sit down if he gets dizzy," growled Gaius as they shut the door. They both snickered like half- grown boys as they made their escape.

As they neared one of the torches, Gwaine suddenly put out his hand and stopped Merlin from going further, looking at him closely in the wavering light. He found himself crushing his friend in a sudden hug, and then he quickly let go.

"That was too close for comfort, Merlin," he said. "I thought you were gone more than once. You look…you look alive."

The slighter man merely shrugged. His grin begged for forgiveness. "Where are we going, " he said at last.

"Somewhere we can talk in private."

Merlin's eye grew sharp as arrows at those words. He motioned to an alcove, around a corner, that he had never noticed. It was a small space filled by a rough table and a tower of buckets. Gwaine noted how Merlin put a hand out to steady himself as he turned to look at him. Mops were drying, hanging against the wall.

"Elyan was manning the watch tonight. He saw something out there in the woods around Camelot, by the remains of the trebuchet, Merlin. A strange grey glow that flickers between the trees, and there's a terrible, foul smell in the air. I came to tell Arthur, "

Merlin suddenly looked a bit paler at the pause in his voice. Gwaine reached out and put his hand on Merlin's shoulder.

"Arthur couldn't sleep, and went out for a walk, but hasn't come back. He's been missing a few hours."

Merlin stiffened. His blue eyes were dark with emotion, and there was an echo of thunder in his silence. Gwaine shivered and wondered that how he had never noticed his power.

He had seen the residue that shimmered all along the northern perimeter of the walls of Camelot, and how the greatest concentration of the powder had been near the trebuchet, where Merlin had been chained. Leon had raised the specter of Merlin being a sorcerer, as they walked the battlefield, finding only headless corpses.

"You are the sorcerer that defended Camelot," said Gwaine, without preamble.

Merlin's knees almost buckled and he took a deep breath, as if his wound had opened up again. He looked up at Gwaine, with a terrible doom written in his eyes.

He nodded, voicelessly admitting his magic, and then he looked down at the ground.

"I've always had magic." He said, "Since the day I was born, …"

"Say no more, Merlin! I know you saved us yesterday and that's enough for me!" He paused, and then he gave his friend another quick embrace because he did not have the words to say what he felt. "We have to find Arthur!"

"Help me" said Merlin steadily, looking deep into Gwaine's eyes as he recovered himself. Merlin looked confident, but as he began to walk, he stumbled, and held on to the wall as the world reeled around him. Before he could ask, Gwaine was holding him up, for all the world as if Merlin had too much to drink, as they walked down the hallway and across the courtyard. Crossing into the moonlight, Merlin seemed to get a little more strength back, and he did not lean against Gwaine for support.

"I hoped it was just a dream." Merlin began to tell Gwaine as they walked. He looked around as if someone might hear them. " After Percival found me. Out there in the woods, I dreamed…crazy ideas. I saw, … I saw Macha, the second queen of the Morrigan," he said in a horrified tone to his friend. The knight was not sure he understood but the next words froze his heart. " She promised a band of dead warriors to the sorcerer who built the trebuchet. She told him to bury the heads of his warriors after he lost the battle. In my dream she anointed him in blood and told him, in the end he would be victorious. But she must have revenge for the death of the forest, and the only thing that will appease her is the head of a king: Arthur's head. " His voice ached in his throat. His fear was crushing.

"Ruadan. The sorcerer's name is Ruadan."

Merlin stumbled again, then stopped for a moment, hanging on to the knight for a moment more, until his weakness passed. He smiled at Gwaine reassuringly. "I'm ok." He said. He took a few more breaths.

"Outside the castle walls, Gwaine. There's a stream that feeds the moat, a hidden spot of green and water. When Arthur doesn't have time to ride, and he needs to get out… He might be there. I know the way. Ruadan is in the woods…" He looked up suddenly, his eyes riveting Gwaine's.

"I will need Excalibur from the armory," he said, shaking his head. "I should have thought of it." The words had hardly left his mouth, when Gwaine was already tearing off, running at top speed. Merlin sank down on the steps near the entrance.

He had personally mopped them only three days ago. He took a breath, letting the cool feel of the marble press against the palms of his hands. To his own surprise, Merlin felt himself nod off into a kind of trance in the white light of the moon, as he waited. He felt danger ahead, and sacrifice. He felt the land still crying out in it's wounding. And Arthur. It seemed to him that danger had already encompassed the King, but he told himself, he dare not lose hope. The sense of danger grew heavier. He thought that only a few heartbeats had passed, but he dimly heard Gwaine's heavy tread as he returned. He forced himself to his feet. He felt stronger.

"Hurry," said Merlin, as he took Excalibur from Gwaine's hand. He whispered a word, looking at the blade and his eyes blazed gold for a moment. Excalibur shone with a faint blue light and Merlin whispered.

"The dead warriors are near. They may have Arthur already."

The knight nodded, somehow unsurprised at the sudden evidence of his friend's power, and followed along behind him, delighted and frightened. As they neared the gate of that crossed the moat, there was a sudden stench. They turned off the main road and Merlin showed the way to the hidden part of the stream. They did not find Arthur. They found only trampled grass and mud by the edge of the water. The smell of death was overwhelming.

Merlin shivered. He stumbled again, as he took a step forward into the water. He fell to his knees almost immediately. He froze for a long moment.

"The Morrigan," he said hoarsely. "Beahn nighe."

Gwaine did not understand, but he pulled his friend out of the water, hauling him to his feet. Merlin's eyes seemed to refocus and he panted to regain his breath. The servant looked down at his blue shirt for a moment, as if it haunted him. He looked up at Gwaine with a strange look in his eyes. There was both sadness and a plea for forgiveness in his aspect, but that look quickly changed into the steel of warrior. Then Merlin turned and scrambled madly down the bank to get closer to the water again. He was peering intently across the stream. There was a clear trail of crushed plants and mud churned up on the other side of the stream as well. The knight tried to stop him, but Merlin shook Gwaine off and plunged across the water, falling into the mud, as he neared the shore, in his haste. He sank his hands down into the earth. He closed his eyes as if he was searching with some other power. He turned around and looked up at Gwaine, once more. There was stark terror in his eyes.

"Ruadan has captured Arthur. They're heading back to the site where they built the trebuchet. This is their trail."

Gwaine felt his heart drop.

"Do you trust me," said Merlin softly, rising to his feet again. He held his muddy hand out to the longhaired knight. "I can get us there quickly, if you trust me." Gwaine nodded and wondered what Merlin was going to do.


	11. Chapter 8: Salvation and Despair

CHAPTER EIGHT

SALVATION AND DESPAIR

Arthur was being pulled along. Shadows of limbs yanked at him and struggled, if he fought against the movement. There was a fetid smell all around him, choking him. If he opened his eyes, there was a diseased, grey glow to the shadow warriors who poked and prodded at him. Even their weapons and their rags of clothing emitted a sickly light. He did not know how long they had been walking. It seemed a long time. He was bound with both leather straps and chains on both his ankles and wrists. He had been claimed by dark magic.

They had taken him as the cry of the raven had faded in his ears. A muffling miasma, a horrific darkness had enveloped him. It was like those nights on a battlefield, when the groans of the dying hang in the putrid air, heavy with death. His head had reeled, and in that shocked second, Arthur had been taken.

As he stumbled along, falling and getting up over and over, he realized that this magic was nothing like he had ever imagined. It was worse than his father's nightmares. He wondered what his servant would do. Merlin.

He remembered suddenly, shadow warriors from another time, and he wondered if it was really Merlin who had defeated the wraiths that time too. He shook his head in amazed hope; Merlin might really be on his way to save him. He wanted to believe that with all his heart. He could defeat this sorcerer with Merlin by his side. It had been that way for a long time, he realized.

A sudden shove from behind drove him down to his knees again. A bony limb kicked him in the shoulder. His teeth hurt from the blow as his head spun. He decided he didn't like this part of Merlin's world.

Up ahead at the head of the line, his eyes located the sorcerer. Ruadan rode confidently at the head of the shadow army. He had a polished, urbane look to him. He carried himself like a prince. His eyes had been glittering cold as he realized his shadow warriors had captured the King himself outside the walls of Camelot. But the smile that lit his features was cruel and deeply satisfied.

And then the sorcerer had laughed. His laughter had burned into a flame of anger in Arthur's heart. He had given way to his rage, throwing himself in helpless ire at the sorcerer, who felled him with a glance. He had rolled in agony on the ground for an endless moment, until the torture ceased, and he had been pulled to his feet again. The sorcerer had still been laughing as he had bound Arthur himself, closing the wrist and leg irons with flash of his eyes that let him know there would be no escape from his captivity.

"Macha put you in my hand, little King, " he had said, softly. "I have a use for your pretty head." The hatred in his eyes was unnerving. The sorcerer had turned and mounted his horse, his cape sweeping behind him.

From then on, it had been a litany of curses and a thousand blows from the glowing army of the dead. While their bodies were skeletal, their faces were still rotting. Their features were swollen and distorted by death and decay, but still human.

Arthur could see there was depth to Ruadan's hatred that he could never understand. The violence in his heart had propelled him to the unholy thing that had been done to his warriors. He wondered as he heaved himself to his feet for the hundredth time, what had happened to Ruadan that his heart was so dark. The face of Uther, his eyes blazing as he sentenced sorcerers and witches to their death, raged in the shadows of Arthur's mind. Hatred.

The shadow mercenaries kicked him to his knees once again. He vomited from the force of the blow to his midsection. Arthur vaguely became aware he was in the middle of a devastated forest. His head was still spinning. Broken stumps and gashed earth surrounded him. "Bring him to me," cried the sorcerer.

"Time for you to serve your true purpose, Arthur of Camelot." He found himself thrust forth until he stood face to face with the sorcerer who had unleashed this devastation. The chains and straps fell from him with a gesture from the sorcerer and Arthur plotted to escape, even though he moved not a muscle.

"My goddess will only be appeased for the death of her forest, by the blood of a king," Ruadan said. There was a cruel tone to his voice that belied his words. "Her price is the head of Arthur Pendragon, and most amazingly, here you are. With hardly any effort on my part." There was an ill concealed glee in his voice.

"She handed me the sacrifice she demanded. She asked for the head of the Pendragon tyrant, and you came to my hand. Arthur, the beloved son of Uther, the king who sought to obliterate magic, was as easily taken as a rabbit in a trap! I had heard you were a fighter, a warrior beyond compare!" He laughed. "Welcome your Majesty!" His voice was mocking, cold as ice. "Bow your neck to me, boy, so I get a clean blow and let Macha taste her due."

Skeletal limbs poked at him, forcing him to his knees again. A shield smashed against his head and he reeled. He was kicked, but Arthur struggled up again.

"I'll hack your head off, inch by inch, if you force me," shouted the sorcerer, raising his blade. There was a sharp golden flare, almost like a fiery lightning, and then Merlin, was there, not ten feet away. And so was Gwaine. There was a frightened shock on his face.

"If it is blood your goddess demands, then let her take yours!" shouted Merlin. His voice was like a clarion; his challenge rang out boldly. The sorcerer turned and the weapons clashed in a radiating explosion of power and light as they made contact. Excalibur blazed in Merlin's hand.

The sword flashed again and Ruadan was falling in a spray of blood. To Arthur's s despair, so was Merlin.

At the same moment, that Merlin had used both hands to bring Excalibur in to position to sever Ruadan's head, the sorcerer's weapon had plunged through Merlin's exposed midsection, exiting near his spine, mid back. There was a tremendous spurt of blood, and Merlin collapsed without a cry. Ruadan's life-blood sprayed across his face as he fell. Blood pumped ferociously from his wound, staining his shirt as he sank to his knees. His eyes rolled back in his head and his legs gave way completely. Gwaine roared in pain. Merlin lay on his back, blood still pumping and bubbling down his shirt for a moment, and then he heaved weakly once, as his breath rattled and his legs trembled. And then, it stopped.

It was over.

Ruadan was dead. Merlin.

All around them there was a keening sound that grew in volume. The dead warriors moaned, and there was a murmuring in the wind. Faint cries at first mushroomed into a nexus of sound. There was the sound of women weeping, their tears hung in the clouds and moved along the ground like a sigh. The wind gathered strength, erasing the shadow warriors as if they had never been. In a moment, all that was left were the crying winds and the broken shell of Merlin's body, as witness to what had happened.

Blood stained his servant's open mouth. His eyes had glazed over, unreactive and set. Blood was pooling on the forest leaves, sinking into the ground.

Gwaine stood silent. Arthur made no sound. He stood unable to move, staring at the body of his friend, uncomprehending. Merlin was gone. Taken from his side in a moment. Only seconds ago, he had burst in, shining with power. Now, he was gone. His world collapsed.

"No, no, no. no," He dimly wondered if that was Gwaine, or he, himself.

Arthur could still not move of his own accord. He felt as if he himself had received a mortal wound. He found he was sinking to his knees, just as Merlin had.

"He never wore armor," he thought softly to himself as his heart came back to life. He immediately wished it hadn't. The pain of being left behind was beginning to pulse through him. He heaved, his chest knotted in a spasm of overwhelming pain. It was as if his heart was trying to escape this last torture. "He was never a knight."

The words of the woman by the stream came back in pinpoint retrospect. He prayed he had wandered into some nightmare magical reality. But no, Merlin was dead, covered in his own blood. Excalibur was still in his hand. Ruadan's body was a black bulk only a few feet away.

It started to rain. The wind soughed in the trees, like the sound of Arthur's own grief, and buffeted around his head. The rain made rivulets in the crimson that stained his servant's face. He reached out and closed Merlin's eyes. He tried to wipe away some of the blood from his face; his body was still warm. Arthur gently touched his dark hair. Gwaine wept, aloud and unashamed. There was another whisper in the wind now. A woman's laughter. It grew louder. It blended with the weeping winds that sang around them.

All around them, Arthur and Gwaine felt a trembling vibration begin. The earth itself was shaking beneath them, and the wind was gathering strength. The knight threw himself across Merlin's body as if he could still save him. For some strange reason, Arthur held on to a wild hope, as the laughter and the weeping of women became a symphony of savage emotion. It surrounded him in a wild tumult. Exulting, mourning, celebrating, despairing; the voices filled his mind. His consciousness spun crazily in the roaring and keening of the winds that spun around him. In anger and naked hope, his soul begged for the impossible. He prayed for something he dare not name. But the darkness filled him, and he fell unaware, beside the body of his friend. He wished he could have told him a thousand things.

Or maybe only one.

Author's note: This is not a death fic. I would have warned you at the beginning if it were! Have faith!


	12. Chapter 9: Forest

CHAPTER NINE

FOREST

 _Author's Note: Thank you so much to all the readers who have been following and commenting on my story. I hope this final chapter will satisfy and complete the story well! Thank you again. Your support means more to me, than I can express._

The wind was murmuring softly in the trees above. Arthur was lying in a pool of dappled shade, and there was the smell of leaves and flowers in the breeze. He sighed. The faint wind stirred his hair and the ground beneath him was pleasantly cool. He took a breath of fresh air, wondering where…

Merlin.

Merlin. Disbelief gave him hope. Maybe it had all been a dream. But he went on breathing and he knew, deep down, that Merlin no longer could. An aching hole opened up in his chest again. Merlin.

Gwaine was stirring; he could hear his quiet movements.

Arthur sat up, his head whirling and still half blinded by what had happened. To his shock, he was sitting in a forest. Around him were all the remnants of the forest that had been pillaged to construct the trebuchet. The broken stumps of the mightiest trees still oozed sap, their broken edges sharp against the background of deeper green. But there were trees here of considerable age and size. All kinds of trees. There was oak and alder, rowan and ash. Mighty yew trees towered above him. There was a carpet of ferns and other mosses that had begun to cover the raw wounds of the prior devastation. Wild flowers and vines tumbled together, obscuring the terrible gashes in the earth. Birds were singing. He scrambled to his feet. He looked around, taking in the verdant landscape in a few wild-eyed seconds as his heart pounded.

Arthur realized that he knew nothing of magic. He had never been able to see its presence. But this… this was incredible. The forest had regrown in a single night. He shook in amazement: it was clear to him some immense power had brought the forest back to life. Merlin. He was struck dumb by the sheer miracle of what had happened. He gazed up in shock and he tried to smile, for in his heart, he truly felt thanksgiving. But some things are too difficult, even for a king. Merlin was gone. Tears filled his eyes, and for once, he was not ashamed. He could not tell if his heart was breaking or mending itself. The pain was the same.

"Gwaine, look, " he said hoarsely. "Look up!"

The longhaired knight gazed up into the living canopy that shaded them. His face echoed with shock, and happiness and regret. He was an echo of Arthur's every feeling. Merlin. At the same time, they both looked down at the spot where he had died. Neither of them wanted to look at the silent form of their friend, but to their horror only Excalibur shone mutely in the scuffled litter of leaves.

Merlin's body was gone. Ruadan was still lying there, dead, but Merlin was gone.

There were still bloodstains on the leaves that covered the ground and the sword, but no evidence of his friend's body. The corpse of Ruadan lay not far away, half covered in creeping vines. His head still glared sightlessly from a crevice in the rocky ground where it had tumbled after his death. He felt beyond disbelief. He still could not understand what had happened. Part of him still could not believe Merlin had died. He didn't want to revisit the horror of his memory, but there it was.

Merlin had magic, and he had taken the place of the king, in Ruadan's quest for power. He knew nothing of magic, but Arthur was intimate with the costs of revenge. Merlin's blood had wiped the slate clean. Merlin.

He wanted to kill him! He wanted to throttle his friend himself. Arthur was furious that death was Merlin's final choice. He felt rage building and he let it possess him for a moment, because anything was better than the pain.

But the shards of his anger fell around him after only a moment, leaving him panting. He did not know if he could ever forgive Merlin for leaving him in such a spectacular, heroic way. Nothing he thought or raged about, could change the bleak reality in front of him. Merlin had died in his place, and there wasn't even a body to bury, or a gravesite to mourn.

Arthur mutely, picked up his sword. His heart was breaking as he bent to retrieve Excalibur. He recalled the moment it first came to his hand, and Merlin's voice urging him to have faith.

Have faith; the words seem a cruel mockery in the light of his friend's death. His memory was now underlined with magic, and it broke his heart. He swallowed hard because he did not want to break down or lose control. He needed a moment. He needed a moment alone to say goodbye to Merlin.

The mere idea of farewell sat on his tongue like dust. His heart was seared black. He thrust the pommel of the sword towards Gwaine who stood watching. He accepted the sword, with an unspoken understanding nod.

He walked away a bit further into the forest. The cool sweet morning mocked him. There was a singing eloquence to the branches that Arthur had never seen before. It seemed to him that the new forest spoke to him and murmured. He looked up at the shining green of the tree canopy above him. Bits of blue sky shone between the leaves. There were flowers hiding at the base of bushes, as if spring had suddenly appeared, along with the miraculous growth of the forest from complete destruction. He felt bewildered. Stunned. Merlin had magic and he had died, The forest that had been destroyed was alive again. And Merlin was not.

He couldn't even give his friend a proper funeral. He didn't even have Merlin's body. Gwaine was probably already already searching for it. But somehow he knew it would never be found.

For a moment, his fury overcame him again. That miserable idiot! The damn fool was probably a part of the trees or some such nonsense. They could have fought Ruadan together. In a single moment, a dozen adventures presented themselves in which Merlin ended alive and well at his side and the sorcerer and his evil, lay dead. He turned his thoughts away from hopeless impossibility. Merlin had died in his place. And now the best Arthur could do was wander around the forest trying to say goodbye. He fumed for a moment, letting anger give him respite from the immediacy of his grief. He had no idea what to do next. He had no idea how he was going to go on with his life.

He thought of Gaius and Gwen. His heart began to bleed.

Magic itself, had walked at his side for years and he never knew it. And now, its absence was a wound that would never heal. He told himself that the memory of Merlin's gallant sacrifice would counter the personal nightmare of his loss. At least, he tried to convince himself. He remembered how he had once told Merlin he would call him a hero if he died. He wanted to scream, but he did not. He clutched at his pain, and he swore he would honor his friend's memory every day and at the same time, he cursed himself for an arrogant fool. Nothing Arthur could do or say would help him find peace.

Nothing a king could do, would equal the honor of the man who had served him faithfully, using his forbidden powers to defend him in every way, only to die in his place, in some crazy, magical game of chance. He was just beginning to understand and he knew his heart would never mend. He would never see Merlin again. As he stood there taking in the magnificence of the forest, he began to doubt that he would ever be able to bid Merlin a true farewell. He closed his eyes. The ache in his chest became an agony.

"Are you going to stand there, like a ninny, all day," asked a familiar voice.

Arthur turned and then he stopped himself. It did no good to give hope to wild thoughts like the ones that had filled his heart, when he was half-mad with grief. He was being a fool.

"You heard me, dollophead!"

His eyes flew open. He turned. Merlin was standing a few feet behind him, in the half sunlit shadow of a copse of trees.

He wondered if he was seeing a ghost. A spirit. Arthur froze, suddenly unsure if it made any difference. The ghost smiled at him. It was the familiar smile of his best and only friend. It was the face he would have given years off his life, to see once more. It was Merlin. For a moment, they looked at each other.

Arthur scrambled forward. There was a strange roaring in his ears. His hands touched the blue shirt. It was filthy with mud, soaked in blood, and it was sliced into rags, just as he remembered in his strange vision by the stream, but Merlin was whole and unharmed and his eyes were full of a longing that the King could never explain. He was alive. He was smiling.

Arthur cried out. It was an inarticulate cry of joy. It echoed through the new forest. It brought Gwaine running, wild eyed and hopeful.

"Merlin!"

He was nearly lifted from the ground by the strength of Arthur's embrace. And this effect was tripled when Gwaine arrived. There was a rush of words.

"You're alive!"

"Merlin!"

"What? I can't…"

"I'm here," said Merlin.

"But how?"

Arthur's tone was wonder and complete befuddlement.

"Merlin, I saw you die!"

"You dropped after Ruadan stabbed you, and then you were gone. There was so much blood…It happened so quick…" Gwaine echoed what Arthur and he had seen. Both men could not forget Merlin's brutal death. It was etched in the darkest corner of their hearts. It was a moment in time that would live as nightmare, forever.

"I closed your eyes."

Merlin was torn open by the pain in Arthur's voice. He trembled as if he was afraid or as if he was gathering strength to commit some terrible act. He placed his hand on Arthur's shoulder and looked pleadingly at both the knight and the king. He did not know if he could bear to lie one more time. The moment had come.

Arthur saw there was a depth in Merlin's gaze, that he had never dared glimpse. It was the dark strength of a man who knew the costs of power, a man who had mastered the temptations of his own limits. He could not believe how plainly Merlin's power was written, now that he had eyes to see.

"I know you have magic," said Arthur softly. "Only a sorcerer of great power could have done this," he gestured at the towering trees and the bushes and ferns. "You took my place in Ruadan's quest for power and you died. All hell broke loose, and then, we woke up, here, in a forest that wasn't here, the night before. And you're alive."

"Arthur, I…" began Merlin, but Gwaine interrupted.

"You were dead, mate."

The dark haired youth stood in shock, looking at both of his friends

"Explain to me later if you will," said Arthur; in the voice he used to gentle horses. " You're here, Merlin. You're alive. That's the only thing that matters. I've watched you die twice, in as many days, you idiot," he paused for a heartbeat, almost overcome, but he was able to go on. "And if that doesn't convince me of your loyalty…well, I guess I would have to be a fool."

The king lowered his eyes. His voice grew thick. "I can't bear to lose you."

Merlin bowed his head.

"Not ever, again," growled Gwaine. "Never, Merlin. My heart isn't built for that kind of abuse." There was such pain in his smile, that Merlin was sunk in an aching wonder, at what had happened.

"I, … I can try to tell you," said Merlin, at last. "I don't even know if I understand. I don't know how to explain what happened , but I woke up here in the forest, and …". Here Merlin closed his eyes, and he tried to speak again but words failed him, until at last he shook his head. "Arthur, I … " he whispered. The King reached out and laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Later, Merlin. When you've had some time."

Merlin nodded, relieved and somehow saddened, and then he turned and motioned for them to follow him. A few steps away, on the other side of the tree thicket was a small pile of wood was set in a cone in a fire pit. However strange that was, it was a minor oddity in the amazement that now possessed them.

There was a small pond of fresh water fed by a trickling stream that meandered off into the forest. It was tranquil. It was ineffably peaceful. With the copse of trees behind them, you could not see the spot where Merlin and Ruadan had both died. There was no hint of blood stained leaves and crimson soaked ground. The surging new life of the forest lent a golden glow to the light of the morning. Leaves, outlined in silver, gently brushed the surface of the water. A dragonfly hovered. An egret waded in the shallows.

"A moment," said Merlin softly.

Like a shadow, he moved behind them, walking over to the half-covered corpse of the sorcerer. The figure of his servant seemed insubstantial as he walked in the moving shadows of the dappled sunlight. He extended his hand, and he appeared to whisper something. Soon there was an explosion of plant growth, leaves unfurling and tumbling over them selves in a rush to life. Stems turned into shoots and to saplings. Some few, strong, saplings burst into study young trees, shading the place, where once there had been death. The severed head sank into the earth; soft green mosses softened the place where it had fallen. Behind him, in the spot where Merlin had died, there appeared more foliage, a low growing plant that crept along as he watched. Blossoms of white emerged and hung, dancing in the breeze. Arthur stood stunned, watching his friend.

As Merlin turned and came back towards them, he avoided their gaze. His eyes flashed gold briefly and the campfire came to life. When he sat down, he stretched his hands towards the warmth of the fire, as if it was the most normal thing in the world. And then the re-united friends realized that perhaps, it was.

Merlin's eyes were dark as storm; he looked up again at his two friends. He looked into the heart of the fire. It was awkward as he began to talk.

"I've always had magic," said Merlin softly, "since the day I was born… I'm told, anyway. But it's more than that. "

"I have another name, another fate" he continued. " My other name is Emrys. That is what the Druids call me. It means immortal, and that sums it up. I just don't have magic, Arthur; I am not just a powerful warlock, Gwaine. Magic is a part of me, and it brought me back. I can't tell you why I came back either time; I just know I did. "

"I took your place, Arthur, because I knew I could bring the forest to life again. What Ruadan began in his quest for revenge, I needed to finish. I saw the dark goddess three times. I was willing to pay the price."

Gwaine made an unconscious gesture against evil. His face was pale as he listened. Arthur was intent. The trees above them murmured in the wind.

"I heard Babd cry at the very beginning, at the crossroads where I was captured. In a dream, I saw Macha anoint Ruadan and swear to him an army of the dead to conquer Camelot. And when I stepped in the stream that feeds the moat, I saw Nemain, the Bean Nighe, washing my shirt in the river." Arthur gave an almost visible start, as he listened. But he said nothing more. "

"My fate and my destiny were wrapped up in this from the very beginning. Maybe revealing my magic was part of the plan. I hope so." He looked at them again, a mute pleading in his eyes. "I do know that my defense of Camelot and my death were a part of this story and I saw it coming. I was willing to take the chance I wouldn't come back. I would not change a single action. Everything I did was to save Camelot and you, Arthur, and I did not hesitate. What else could I do?"

The fire seemed to flicker in the depths of Merlin's eyes, even in the daylight.

"I would give my life for you a thousand times, Arthur."

The King bowed his head. Gwaine was overcome and had to look away. The silence that followed was like a note of deepest timbre.

"I went out to the site of the trebuchet, the morning after we brought you back," said Arthur. He spoke more slowly than was his usual pace. "I realized you were the sorcerer who saved us from the attack. The knights and I found evidence of your defense all over the scene." His friend's eyes went wide with shock.

"I intended to question you, to get to the bottom of the question, but…you had lost so much blood. I… I couldn't. If I had any doubts about how you used your magic, once, … once I saw you, I forgot them! You were almost gone, Merlin. You were chained in that trebuchet, wounded, and you still found a way to save us, even then. You did it to save Camelot, … to save me. I knew you had magic. I knew who you were, who you had always been. And then I started to remember all the times I never saw your magic. It was like a dam breaking, like a rain rinsing away my obliviousness … and then, you came back to life right in front of my eyes. One moment, I was sure you were gone, and the next, everything was normal. You just … came back. I didn't know what to say, how to begin. Gaius insisted you needed to rest and I needed to think, so I…I said nothing."

Gwaine gruffly joined the conversation. The usually talkative knight was terse.

"Leon and I figured it out once we saw the corpses by the trebuchet and the strange dust over the battlefield. You kept talking about the heads after we found you. You were raving about them… not even sure if you remember that part."

The sorcerer shook his head.

"No," he said softly. "I don't. I just remember my dream."

"Like I told you before, Merlin, you saved us," said Gwaine. " It was your blast of blue light that defended the walls as we were attacking the trebuchet! It left a dust, sort of, on everything it touched. The rain has washed it away by now." He shook his head. "The whole world should know about what you did! " The King nodded.

"My father was wrong about magic," said Arthur. His voice was even and strong. "It was you, Merlin, who protected the walls of Camelot" he gazed at his friend earnestly. "It was your magic that saved my life right now. Ruadan was ready to take my head. I'm beginning to understand all the things you have done.

"I've done terrible things, Arthur." Merlin's voice was quiet. But the king was not so easily shaken.

"So have I, Merlin. Sometimes in the service of a cause I no longer believed. But I did those things because I thought it was best for Camelot, and I can try to understand. If you trust me."

Merlin avoided his gaze again, looking into the fire again.

"I know you did these things for me, … for Camelot," Arthur went on. "I can tell you this; when the trebuchet failed; when I saw the Greek fire slide down the invisible barrier of magic, I swore I would hunt down the sorcerer who had saved my kingdom and thank him."

Merlin was beginning to smile. His look was incredulous, as if he couldn't really believe what he heard.

"Thank you, Merlin," The King held out his hand, and his friend took it, though his smile was tremulous, and his eyes were wet.

"I wish I had a drink, " said Gwaine, although the morning was hardly begun.

Merlin laughed. It was as clear and happy a laugh as Arthur had ever heard from his friend. It seemed as if a dark burden had been lifted from his soul and his eyes danced with merriment. The dark haired man snapped his fingers and his eyes glowed gold for a moment, until they returned to his familiar blue twinkle. A dusty bottle appeared in his hand. It bore Arthur's own royal imprimatur.

"Camelot's finest!"

Gwaine laughed, and Merlin joined in. Their mirth echoed in the boughs and leaves.

"The finest," agreed Arthur, looking up at the miraculous forest around them and then looking back to Merlin and Gwaine, for a moment. The King tried to ignore the fact that he was a sentimental fool.

Merlin pried out the cork and each man took a drink from the bottle as they stood up. The fiery liquor skirled in their head as it went down their throats and tweaked at their hearts. Arthur threw his arm around Merlin's shoulders, impulsively. Still in shock and full of wonder, unafraid of what might come from this new beginning, they started on their way back home to Camelot, together.

Strength. Courage. Magic.


	13. Epilogue

EPILOGUE

In the weeks and months that followed, there were wild tales that grew up around a patch of forest north of Camelot. Hunters and charcoalers swore that a huge swath had been destroyed in a day and then grew up again, in only one night. It was true that there were enormous broken stumps alongside young, healthy trees. There were terrible, deep gouges into the green earth that echoed now with vines and flowers of all kinds.

There was game aplenty in the green shadows of that forest. But it was seldom that a hunter caught anything or killed anything there. It seemed the animals anticipated every move and melted invisible into the verdant camouflage at the first sign of a weapon. But there were fox cubs that peered curiously from the ferns; deer gazed cautiously from the screen of bushes and vines, and in the spring, the sound of birds and the hum of insects set the greenery alive with music. Rabbits were abundant and the call of quail and pheasant echoed in the rolling terrain. Wild flowers made broad swaths of color under the singing green of the tree canopy.

It was said that the beautiful forest was a place of magical power. It was rumored the Dark One herself wandered the pristine beauties of the verdant shadows, finding peace from her own powers of annihilation. There were whispered rumors that in the heart of the forest, beside a tranquil pond, grew a rare and beautiful flower, whose leaves could bring a loved one back from the edge of death if the Goddess willed it.

Stories grow over time and the truth is obscured and exaggerated. But some things are true and this is one of them. There were many who murmured a prayer for the impossible as they journeyed into the depths of that mysterious forest and there were many, who received the mercy of the Morrigan.


End file.
